


We Still Have Time To Be

by Lily_rizzy



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 23:52:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11474265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lily_rizzy/pseuds/Lily_rizzy
Summary: “Aaron..." I find my voice at last, "what's the last thing you remember?”You look away for a moment, as though trying to put the pieces together. Your face is confused and I imagine mine is much the same.“I... we were driving home from dropping Liv and Mum off at the airport. Liv flew back to her mums today, didn't she? She’s not well.”You look at me and I so desperately want to tell you yes, that you're right, but you're not. You’ve forgotten so much, Aaron. How am I meant to tell you that you left me over a year ago?-The last thing Aaron remembers is him and Robert being married and happy; can they find their way back to each other as they both relive how they fell apart?





	1. Chapter 1

I'm stood outside your hospital room. I'm confused as to why I'm here if I'm being honest. Adam told me you were in a bad way, a car accident he said, and for some reason, I couldn't stop myself from coming to you. I should be embarrassed about the hold you still have on me, but I’m not. It would be useless anyway, everyone can tell. Vic harps on at me at least 5 times a week that I need to “get over you,” but how am I meant to forget when everywhere I turn, there is something to remind me of you. 

I can see you through the glass. You look so small and so vulnerable, with tubes and machinery poking out of you. The overwhelming desire to hold you washes over me like an angry wave. The all-too-real memory of another time you wound up in a hospital bed plays like a film behind my eyelids.  


_ Robert, will you marry me? _

It’s enough to urge me forward, through the door to stand beside you. 

You're asleep. I'm grateful for that because I think that if you weren't, I wouldn't have the strength to stay. I want to touch you, to put a hand over yours and whisper words of comfort, but that's not my place anymore. It might be someone else's for all I know, but I haven't heard anything from Adam about a new boyfriend. _That,_ I can be grateful for.

It’s unfair, how much you’ve been hurt in your short, 26-year life. You wear your heartache in the cuts over your skin and I wish I hadn’t been the cause of some, but I am. You’ve been hurt so much, yet here you are again, hurting some more. I wonder if life will ever give you a break. You deserve to be so happy, Aaron, and for a brief time I thought I could be the person to make you that way.  

I’m lost in my thoughts, and then suddenly your eyes are open and you're looking at me. 

“Rob,” you croak, a confused, but relieved smile coming to your face, “what happened?”

Something is wrong, I can feel it instantly. You look relieved to see me, so relieved it sends shock waves through every inch of me. You haven't called me Rob or looked at me like that in a long time. In over a year. 

I’m gaping at you, not saying anything. I don’t know what to say and I don't want to do anything that ruins the look of love you have for me. I’m scared of you, or at least of the power you have over me. 

"Did I crash your car?" You ask, a teasing note laced through your words. I can't remember the last time you were in my car, let alone driving it. Instead, I remember another journey, one with you full of beer in the passenger seat, stroking my thigh on the way home from a bar in Hotten. You, looking at me, eyes full of lust as you made promises about what you were going to do to me when we got home, a smirk on your face. 

_I’m going to wreck you, Rob._

Promises you kept. 

You’re laughing now. “It can’t be that bad, Rob, I’m still here,” your eyes are alight with mirth. You’re laughing at me, and I almost join in. I haven’t heard you laugh in so long and it's infectious. The weight of my longing for you threatens to crush me. Then softly you ask, “When can we go home?”

I feel the breath shudder out of my lungs. Home? Do you mean to our house, where I now live alone? Your mums, above the pub? Or your new place? We don't have a home together, Aaron, not anymore. How can you talk like this? Like we’re still married, living together. Like you still love me.

“Aaron..."  I find my voice at last, " what's the last thing you remember?”  


You look away for a moment, as though trying to put the pieces together. Your face is confused and I imagine mine is much the same.

“I... we were driving home from dropping Liv and Mum off at the airport. Liv flew back to her mums today, didn't she? She’s not well.”

You look at me and I so desperately want to tell you yes, that you're right, but you're not. You’ve forgotten so much, Aaron. How am I meant to tell you that you left me over a year ago?

“Aaron...” I begin, putting my hand over yours. It's the first time I've touched you like this, since the day you left. My hands had gripped yours as I’d begged you to stay, but you’d left anyway. You’re looking down now and a sound of pain escapes you. 

"Where's your ring, Robert?"

I stare at you for a moment before my eyes flick down to your own bare ring finger. You follow my gaze and make a second noise of distress. You snatch your hand away from mine as though I am burning you. 

"What's going on?" Your voice is so small, Aaron. You’re twisting your right hand around your ring finger, like how you used to play with your ring when you wore it. When you were nervous or upset. 

I shut my eyes, screw them shut tightly. How much do you not remember Aaron? How much time have you lost? For a moment, I consider not telling you, hiding the fact that we have fallen apart and no longer even talk. It would be my second chance, a chance to have you back. I could take you home, back to the Mill and this time I wouldn't fuck it all up, I wouldn’t let _us_ fuck it up. 

But I know I can't. I've learnt before, the hard way, that I can't lie to you.

"Aaron, you were in a car accident. But- but I think you're having some memory problems. The doctors said you might, but that they would most likely be temporary. It's- it's over a year later than what you remember. Me and you...'' I can't finish. You look at me, your lower lip almost trembling. Never before have I wanted to kiss a look a fear off your face more. We’re _both_ afraid of each other. How did we get here?

"We're not married anymore, are we?" You whisper.

"No." I mouth, shaking my head. I have always thought that you leaving was punishment. Having to be the one to relive that, by telling you that you no longer love me, _that_ is like a death sentence.

You look away, and I know you're crying. I've made you cry so many times in the last few years, I can read you like a poem recited 100 times. I can't stand to hear your heart breaking shudders as you gasp for breath. The raw wound of losing you still aches every second I'm awake but that initial realisation that you were leaving was like a sudden, bloody shot to the gut. I know what you are feeling and I cannot comfort you. I can't bare it.

So I turn and leave without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

It's two evenings later when I see you again. You're stood in our driveway, looking an odd mixture of confused and determined.  I should have expected this but even if I had, I don't think I would have expected it to be so soon. You've only just been released from the hospital, doctors confirming your memory loss but other than that saying you're fine. Your wounds will heal with time but they can’t tell you how long your memory will be gone for. They can't even tell you for certain if it will ever come back. 

 I only know this from Vic, who's obviously heard it from Adam. I expect Adam would have kept me updated himself if I hadn’t angered him so much by leaving you alone in the hospital bed.  

_"You can't just waltz in there, drop a bomb on him like that and then leave, Robert! He’s confused and the last thing he remembers is you and him. He needs you.”_

Adams anger hadn't surprised me, and nor had Vic's overly understanding smiles. Naturally, you had gotten Adam in the divorce and I had gotten Vic. You’re still best mates with Vic though and I still have my money invested into yours and Adams scrap yard, so we get along. Even if I didn’t, Adam has sort of become a mate I never expected, though his loyalties will always lie fiercely with you.  

I find it hard to talk to either of them at times though if I'm honest. I see so much of us in them, all of us torn apart by mistakes and misery. I struggle to talk to Vic because she reminds me of all you couldn’t be in the end; forgiving. I struggle to talk to Adam because I'm envious that he managed to fuck up in the same way and keep everything that mattered. It hurts me to hear them plan more and more of their life together, while mine just falls apart like larger and larger chunks of glass falling from a frame, cutting me.

I understand Adams anger, his disappointment. He is thinking that if it had been him and Vic, he would have stayed with her. I know I should have and I'm angry with myself too, Aaron, but how am I meant to let myself believe you love me again when I know it may be temporary.   

That's why you're here, after all, to ask why we're no longer together and learn to hate me all over again. I open the door slowly. You don't seem surprised to see me there, despite you not having knocked. You’re were stood a few paces away from me but you're now walking towards me at full speed. I almost want to shut the door in your face. I don't know if I can let you back into our home, Aaron. I have spent so long trying to erase every part of you from it, to lessen the memories of you that taunt me every moment I'm in it.   

It was a strange thing, for me to keep the house, but you said you couldn’t bear to be in it. I bought you and Liv out, gave you back the inheritance money you used to buy this place even though you said you didn’t want it. I know you used yours to buy a flat just outside the village and I wouldn’t know what Liv has done with hers, I haven’t seen her in months. She is back at her mum's in Ireland now, I don't know for how long though.  

I should have moved out, sold it on but when I thought about someone else living in our home we built together I couldn’t bear it, Aaron. It’s ironic how I am not sure if I can even let _you_ back in now.   

It feels like you are about to cross an invisible barrier, one I conjured up a long time ago to protect me from you, from what you leaving did to me.    

You stop, a step away from me. You can tell I don't want you here. It hurts _me_ a little, to know the feeling of rejection that is now plain on your face, is hurting _you_. We always were so emotionally involved in each other.   

"Can I come in, Rob?"   

Rob again. I feel like a teenager the way it makes my breath leave my lungs so rapidly.   

I wordlessly step aside. You walk in, stomping over my barriers as you go. It took me so long to be able to look at certain parts of this house and not break down all over again. How am I going to get rid of all traces of you this time? I’m _fucked_.   

   

* * *

  

“I love it,” you breathe, as you take in your surroundings. You’re looking around as though seeing it for the first time and I realise that oddly for you it is. This is the only memory you have of being in our finished home.   

A grin springs to my face, I can’t help it. I feel proud all over again like I did when you first came home from prison and saw how much I had gotten done while you were away.   

You take a seat on the sofa, the seat that was always yours for the short time we lived here. Does a small part of you know this is where you belong regardless?  

I'm no longer smiling, because when you look at me you look lost and I am forced back to reality. I wish I could pretend you were still mine for just a little bit longer.   

"I… I need to know, Robert." you say, quietly.   

I screw my eyes tightly shut and hunch forward on the chair where I am sat opposite you. I know this is why you are here but do we really have to do this?   

“Aaron, can you not ask Adam?”   

“He won’t tell me. He said I have to hear it from you.”   

_Well thanks for that, Adam._ I open my eyes to look at you again. You seem so small, sat with your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. I want to tell you it's not me you need to be afraid of. "What do you want to know, Aaron?”  

I can see tears are already threatening to spill down your face. A twisted part of me wants to hope these mean something, your recent tears over us. When you left you didn’t cry.   

"Why did you leave me?"   

That is like a slap to the face and I'm so taken aback I just stare and don’t say a word to you. To know you think _I_ left _you,_ then continued to live in a home we made together as though it meant nothing, cuts me. Even though I know I deserved it, it was you who decided to walk away from me, Aaron.   

The shock must be visible on my face, because you smile a sad smile, almost to yourself. "I'm sorry to ask you. I'm not trying to be some loser, hanging on, but I just… I don’t remember."   

The way you say _loser_ is on purpose, to remind me of times when I have called you that, or close to it.   

_Jealous queen, pathetic._    

You have called me names too, Aaron, I want to remind you. You have told me the worst. We have thrown insults at each other like tossing a ball back and forth in games where no one wins. If the last memories you have of us are just after our wedding when you came home from prison, how can you doubt that I love you with everything I am? I fought for us, through both our mistakes with all the boneless strength I had, Aaron. It was _you_ that gave up.   

"Aaron, I didn’t leave you. You left me." I tell you, meeting your eyes.   

First, you look astonished and then you laugh.    

You laugh in my face.  

"Why would I leave you, Robert?" You ask, as though it’s the most ludicrous concept. Maybe it had been at one time.   

I don't want to tell you, don't want to remind you and make you hate me all over again. Just having you across from me, so open, makes me want to gather you into my arms and never let go and yet at the same time makes me want to run and hide.   

"Aaron, I really think you should go home and talk to your Mum or Adam."   

"They won't tell me," you say firmly, "they said I have to hear it from you."   

For a moment, I curse the lot of them. I want to scream, I have been through enough, do not make me relive losing the realist thing I ever had.  

"Aaron, I can't." Your eyes grow hard and I know you're getting ready for a fight. Your chin juts out, just a little bit. I want to kiss you.   

"Robert, you can't be serious." You're not shouting and this new soft spoken anger is something I don't know how to deal with. We have always been a raging inferno, all fists and screaming.   

"Aaron I… not tonight yeah?" I know I will have to tell you eventually, but just having you in this house again has taken most of my fight.   

You narrow your eyes. "Tomorrow then."   

I sigh. Your stubbornness hasn't changed. I wouldn't want it too, it's one of the reasons I fell for you. In the early days, It hadn't mattered that my words said, _never again_ because your eyes had screamed _you'll be back for more later._

"Tomorrow," I agree.  

I wait for you to stand, to leave. I would offer you a lift back to your new place, I know you're not allowed to drive yet, but I don't know where it is.   

"What's our room like?" You ask suddenly.   

  

Everything that comes out of your mouth recently seems to either shock me or silence me.   

"You didn't like it in the end." I give you a small smile. It's true, you never liked it, though not because of the décor but because of what happened there to make it tainted in your eyes.  

 You don't smile back. Instead, you ask, "Can I stay here tonight?"  

 My gut reaction is to tell you no. When I let you back into our house, Aaron, the last thing I expected was for you to ask to stay the night. This is too close to the daydreaming I did at the beginning, where I would imagine coming home to find all your things moved back in, you apologetic and promising to never leave again. This alternate version of having you back, but not truly, feels wrong.   

 It's not real.  

 You must see the hesitation on my face because you sigh and run your hands roughly across your scalp. "Please Rob, my flat it- it doesn’t feel like home." I screw my eyes tightly shut against you. "I don't want to be alone."   

 I know I'm letting you back under my skin but I don’t know how to keep you on the surface, at arm's length. Perhaps if I had learned how to I would still be married to Chrissie, living at home farm surrounded by money. I'm unsure what life would have made me unhappier.   

 "Fine," I mutter, getting to my feet and walking to the kitchen for something to do that doesn't involve looking at you and forgetting all the reasons I should be telling you to leave.   

 "I'll sleep on the sofa or...?" You try, gently. It makes me angry. After all this time, Aaron, are you asking if I will let you back into our bed? I know you don't remember, but I feel like reminding you again that you were the one who walked away, not me.   

 "Sofa is fine." I try to keep my voice level, "Or you can have Liv's- the spare room." I change my mind last minute. Liv never even got to live here, it's ridiculous to still claim it is her room.   

 You nod. I hope you have gotten the message that you are not welcome in our bedroom. Not if you are going to leave it all over again when you remember.   

 "Thank you," you almost whisper.   

 I nod my acknowledgment, won't tell you 'it's okay,' because it's not and I'm internally screaming. "I'm going to bed," I tell you. Your reply reaches me when I'm halfway up the stupid spiral staircase,   

 "Night Rob. Love you."   

 It takes everything I have to mutter, "Night Aaron," and keep walking up those stairs, rather than rush back down and do something stupid like kiss you senseless or push you back out our front door.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this update! Please leave comments and kudos if you can!  
> Love, Lily x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!   
> Just to let you guys know I'm going to do weekly updates every Wednesday for this fic (or at least try to haha) so here I am! 
> 
> Another thing, I started writing this before the break up happened on the show so while something's are cannon, other things may not be but I hope it's not to confusing! Other things are also a bit different from cannon, like the whole Liv and Chas thing of them not going to Ireland until after Rob and Aaron are back from their honeymoon. If anything is too confusing just comment and I'll try to fix it!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this latest chapter! Still unsure how I feel about it but didn't want to delay any longer posting x

It takes me a while to fall asleep. I'm tossing and turning for hours, agonising other the thought of you downstairs in our living room. Why are you here again, Aaron? I can't keep myself from asking this over and over. If I were a romantic I might try to believe that this is some kind of fate, a second chance for the both of us, but I have always been hard headed. I know there is an expiry date on this new found connection. When I tell you tomorrow you will leave all over again.   

  

Into a few hours of restlessness I realise that I practically ran away from you all over again. I didn’t even give you a blanket to sleep with. Feeling guilty, I tip toe down the stairs, the throw from the end of our bed tucked under my arm. I can't shake this desire to take care of you, protect you like you're still mine to protect.   

  

You look so peaceful, so soft and vulnerable. You're curled up almost into a ball, arms wrapped around yourself as though in defense. You look a far cry from anyone who could hurt a fly, let alone someone who could rip my normality to shreds for the second time in a year.   

  

I am about to put the blanket over you when I notice what you're wearing. It’s a light grey zip up hoodie, battered and little threadbare after years of use.   

  

It’s mine.   

  

You must have taken it from where it was most likely slung over the sofa edge and put it on. It's a piece of clothing you loved to see me wear on lazy Sunday morning's back in the flat above the pub. You had joked that it made me look normal, less of an 'uptight business arsehole.' When I had protested, feigned annoyance, you had pressed me up against the kitchen counter, pushing your cold hands up underneath the hoodie to stroke the warm skin of my stomach underneath.   

  

_"No one's home," you had murmured into my ear before your teeth grazed against my neck, hands dipping lower now, inside the waistband of my boxer shorts._

  

I almost physically shake my head against the memory. Everything you do, between asking what our bedroom is like and wearing my clothes, seems to hold some monumental importance. It's as though I already know these are the details I will dissect, pick apart until my head hurts when you are gone again.    

  

I don't want you here, Aaron, not like this and yet I know the moment you leave I will crave you again. I remember begging you to come home the first night you left, chasing you through the village. I had pulled at your bag slung on your shoulder as though I was going to drag you back home.   

  

_"You can't do this, Aaron!" I protested and you just given me a look as though I was crazy._

  

I don't want to go back to that place, Aaron. I can't do that again, will not make a fool of myself like that.   

  

I place the blanket on the end of the sofa next to your feet. It's there if you need it but I won't place it on you, that's too intimate.   

  

Tomorrow I'm going to tell you and you're going to leave again. And this time, I _will not_ fall apart.   

  

 

* * *

 

  

I'm woken by my phone ringing beside me. I don't remember falling asleep but I know it wasn't that long ago because I feel tired, groggy.   

  

_Chas Calling..._

  

I groan. I'm going to get another bollocking from your mum. I'm grateful this one will be over the phone so I can't be slapped around the face again or worse.   

  

"Hello Chas," I answer, trying my best to sound polite. The truth is, I miss your mum, miss the odd family you let me be a part of for just a little while.   

  

"Is Aaron there with you?" She demands. So much for politeness.   

  

"Yes, but before you start he asked me to let him stay and he's downstairs on the sofa, nothings-"  

  

"Robert," she cuts me off, "what have you told him?"   

  

I sigh. I know what she will think when I tell her I've told you practically nothing, that I am trying to manipulate you into being with me again. She won't believe me if I tell her it's because I haven't been able to say the words, _I cheated on you with Rebecca and we thought I was going to have a son with her. Turned out the kid wasn't mine but you still didn't come back._

  

"Chas, this is really hard for me-" I try but she grinds out a "Robert," in a stern voice so in the end, I admit to the limited information I've told you.  

  

"Good." Is all she says.   

  

I'm confused. "What do you mean?"  

  

It is her turn to sigh now and she sounds tired. I realise she must have been up all night worrying about you, that you most likely didn't tell her where you were. "I had a call from the therapist Aaron has been appointed to help him deal with his memory loss." She begins and then stops.   

  

"And?" I press.  

  

Chas doesn't say anything for a while. I understand suddenly when she lets out a shudder that she is crying. It makes the back of my throat ache as though I am seconds away from joining her.   

  

"And," she finally continues, "she said that Aaron is most likely forgetting things on purpose. Well not on purpose, but like, sub-whatever you call it."  

  

"Subconsciously?"  

  

"Yes, that’s the one. She said it’s probably that his brain has shut parts of his memory down, to protect him from the trauma of certain memories."  

  

"Right," I say. I'm unsure what I am supposed to do with this information. I am unsure if your mum is telling me it to make me feel guilty or if there is more to it.

  

"Robert, she's worried about him, with his history of-" She doesn't say _mental health_ , _self harm_ , "She said that we need to let him remember things on his own.  If we don’t we could shock him and it could lead to a complete mental break down. Robert you-"  

  

"I can't tell him why he left me." I finish for her, realisation seeping through my body like cold. I really feel like crying now, the pain in the back of my throat getting harder to ignore. "Have you told Aaron this?" I croak out when I find my voice again. 

  

"No. He's not picking up his phone." Great, so I have to be the one to tell you that you have been deemed too _unstable_ to be told the truth. I can already see how well you are going to take this.   

  

"Alright Chas, I'll tell him." I'm about to put the phone down when her strangely soft voice startles me,   

  

"Thank you, Robert. For looking after him. I know it can’t be easy for you." It's the first thing in almost a year that your mum has said to me that wasn't hateful.   

  

"I- I meant what I told you, Chas. He was, is-" but my throat gets too tight.. _You were everything._

  

"I know, love." Your mum continues in that soft voice, "So does Aaron. Even before all this mess."  

  

I'm nodding as I put the phone down, even though I know she can't see me.   

  

 

* * *

 

  

  

When I walk down the stairs I can see that you're awake because you're no longer on the sofa. My hoodie is folded into a neat pile and slung over the back of the sofa again. If I hadn't have come downstairs last night I wouldn't have known you had borrowed it.   

  

I have to fight the overwhelming urge to run my fingers across it, to pick it up and see if it smells like you.   

  

I can hear clattering coming from the kitchen so I know that must be where you are. I follow the noise to find you stood at the hob surrounded by mess. I stand in the doorway and wait for you to notice I'm here, trying to work out what you think you're doing.   

  

You turn with a big grin on your face. "Hi," you say brightly, "I'm attempting to make breakfast." Your smile swiftly fades when you see I don't return it. You look suddenly very unsure of yourself.   

  

I feel like you are intruding, trying to close all the gaps I'm trying to force between us as fast as I can make them. I have to remind myself quickly not to snap at you. To you, this is still your house, your kitchen, and our life.   

  

"Great," I force a smile.   

  

You nod, your face still fallen. I feel guilty now, Aaron but you _must_ understand my need to keep myself guarded against you. You turn back to the war zone you’ve made on the kitchen counter and carry on your attempts to cook.   

  

I feel lost and out of place in my own house now. For something to do, I walk to the sink and begin to wash up what's left of yesterdays plates and mugs. We did install a dishwasher but I need to keep my hands busy, keep myself from touching you.   

  

We are each absorbed in our separate tasks and if my head wasn't buzzing with what Chas told me, it would be easy to feel as though we were slipping back into domestic life together.  I've got to come to terms with the fact that you could continue to be in love with me for weeks, months even and there is nothing I can do. I know in my heart that I won't be able to keep you at arm's length for much longer Aaron, cracks in my resolve already showing by my letting you stay the night. I'm setting myself up for heartbreak.   

  

Before I know what's happening you're pressed up against my back, reaching above my head to get plates out of the cupboard. You must be on your tip toes because I can feel your breath against my ear. You smell the same as you always have, despite how long it's been since you invaded my senses like this.   

  

"Sorry," you murmur as you step away, two plates in hand.   

  

"It's alright," I almost grind out. I am half hard just from the feeling of you against me. _I want you,_ more than I have ever wanted anything, it makes my mouth dry and my blood sing.  I force myself to keep scrubbing the same mug that was clean 5 minutes ago.   

  

* * *

 

  

We sit opposite each other in our usual spots at the little table in our kitchen. You've cooked me a full English, or at least your version of a full English. I can tell that, to you, this is a peace offering because you did hardly any of the cooking when we lived together.   

  

"It's really good. Thank you." I say after a few mouthfuls. You look down into your plate and I could swear you were blushing. I had almost forgotten how shy you get in the face of praise and compliments.   

  

"It's nothin'," you mumble continuing to shovel food into your face. You always had been a messy eater and as I watch you eat at a rapid pace I'm reminded that this used to irritate me. It's strange the things you grow to miss about a person.   

  

"Got somewhere to be?" I comment on your rushing. You shake your head.  

  

"I just thought, you know, we should get this conversation out of the way before I overstay my welcome."   

  

Guilt plagues my brain at the knowledge I have made you feel unwelcome in, what is to you, your own home. I don't want you to feel like I don’t want _you_ , Aaron, I just don’t want this false version of _us_ that is not going to last.   

  

"Alright," I resign and begin to speak.  

  

I tell you what your mum has told me softly, as though trying not to spook a wild animal. At first, you protest saying that I'm being ridiculous, that I can't _not_ tell you. You get up and pace angrily round the room looking like it's taking all your strength not to hurl the dirty plates up at the wall.   

  

"I need to _know_ , Robert! I need to know what fucked us up _that_ badly that I thought the best thing to do was to leave."   

  

I take a deep breath against the wave of self-loathing that comes because it's _me_ that fucked up so badly I made you leave. I manage to calm you down eventually by promising you things it's not my place to promise.   

  

"Your memory will come back, Aaron, it has to. I don't like this any more than you do."    

  

When you're finished raging around our kitchen you take a seat again and stare blankly at the wall. I get to my feet and begin to clear away after us.   

  

"I'll do it," you say, beginning to stand but I push you down by your shoulder. It's the first time I've voluntarily touched you since... I can't remember when. I can tell you realise this because a crease forms between your eyebrows.   

  

"Sit," I tell you firmly, "You cook, I clean, remember?" It was a rule we _always_ had so you must remember this _at least_. You nod and then continue to stare at a space of wall behind my head.  

  

* * *

>  

 "You should call your mum, she's worried," I tell you as I follow you into the living room where you are now sat. You grunt an acknowledgment. It’s beginign to annoy me that you're acting as though I'm choosing to keep things from you out of spite.   

  

I hover awkwardly again, stood next to where you are sat still staring intently at nothing as though trying to solve a puzzle etched onto our carpet. I'm expecting you to stand at any moment to leave and your lack of motion is unnerving me.   

  

"Right, well, whenever you're ready..." I gesture uncomfortably to the door when I have had enough of waiting. You snap your eyes up to meet mine, your face like thunder.   

  

"Are you kickin' me out?" You question, eyes steely.    

  

"Aaron, I just-" _I just don't know what to do with you here._ I look at you helplessly, hoping you will understand what you being here is doing to my head.   

  

You snort. "Yeah, okay Robert, you don't love me anymore, I get it. But-"   

  

"That's not it at all!" I'm shouting now, over the top of you, "Don't you dare say that to me, Aaron!" How can you think that Aaron, again? Where is all this doubt about _my_ feelings coming from? There is only so much of my new life I can set alight to keep you warm.   

  

You jump to your feet and come towards me until your face is inches away from mine. "Well, why are you so desperate to get rid of me then, eh? Got a new boyfriend coming over to sleep in our bed or somethin,'" you grind out. I turn away from you and walk a few paces, putting distance between me and your accusations. They are hitting to close to home.

  

My sharp intake of breath must have hinted to the way you have just hurt me because your words come softer, "Rob, I-" but still I won't look at you. How is it that after a whole year your words still have the power to terrify me, to make me _feel_ this much.  

  

I shouldn't care anymore, Aaron.   

  

"It's not our bed anymore, Aaron, and it's not our house," I say firmly. You don’t say anything. When I turn back around you are sat staring again. You have tears pooling in your eyes and I sigh, knowing full well that I cannot get you to leave like this.   

  

I walk into the kitchen. The clock says 8:55 AM. Is that all? I feel like we have been talking, arguing for hours. I'm exhausted already and it's nowhere near lunch time. I text Nicola to let her know I’ll be working from home today then I make us both a mug of tea.   

  

When I bring yours back in I notice your tears have gone but the tortured expression on your face hasn’t.   

  

"I'm sorry, Aaron," I say placing the mug in front of you. You take it with grateful hands.   

  

"No, I'm the one that ought' to apologise. If we've been split up a whole year then I can't blame you not wantin' me here." The sad smile you give me feels like another peace offering.   

  

I shake my head. "I think we've done enough apologising for a day."   

  

We sit and drink our tea in silence. A few time I think of putting the telly on but it feels oddly intimate, too domestic like this morning in the kitchen, so I don't.   

  

"Robert, I want to stay here until I remember." You say, out of the blue. Is that what you have been thinking about the last five minutes? I feel like I don't know your mind, your trains of thought, at all anymore.   

  

"Okay," Is all I say. When our eyes meet again you look wary.   

  

"Are you sure?" You ask. Of course, I'm not sure, Aaron, but what choice have you given me? You have come to me, broken and have expected me to fix you like always. Sometimes I wish you'd never told me about-  

  

No! I stop that thought quickly because I know I don't mean it. No matter what happened between us I will never regret helping you get that monster sent away, never regret helping you pick up the shattered pieces of yourself.   

  

"No. I'm not promising anything, Aaron," I tell you honestly, "but for the meanwhile, yeah, you can stay."  I don't want to get your hopes up. This is not us getting back together, this is me trying to do the right thing for you. I know you wouldn’t believe me if I told you but most of what I used to do was always for you, for us.    

  

You nod as though this is good enough and I hope for both our sakes that it is. Maybe being here will help you remember quicker and we can get this over with.   

  

"How come you kept the house?" It's a question that takes me off guard. I don't know how to make you understand how much you hated it without telling you the reason why. Gordon's money was the beginning but Rebecca was what tipped you over the edge.   

  

"You didn't want it. Like our room, you didn't like it in the end." It's all I can say.   

  

"Why though?" Like a child, you keep asking me these impossible questions. I screw my eyes tightly shut for a moment, aware that I have been closing them off from you a lot these last few days. I'm scared that if you look at me for too long you will see right through my defenses and _know_ that I'm one inch away from giving in to you.   

  

"You know I can’t tell you, Aaron," I whisper, defeated.   

  

"Tell me everything you can, then," You insist, your eyes pleading, "Tell me everything that's not the reason why so I can start to make sense of this mess I woke up to two days ago." Your range of emotions is exhausting, I cannot tell if you want to hit me or kiss me, hurt me or beg me for comfort.   

  

You look so vulnerable, so in need of the memories I have that are lost to you, I can’t help myself. I sigh, take a long drink of my tea.   

  

I tell you.   

  

I tell you about the last day you remember, us just back from our honeymoon taking Liv' and Chas to the airport so they could fly to Ireland. That Liv's mum was ill and Chas was going with her to be supportive, though I think you remember this. I tell you that you blasted stupid garage songs you told me were from your 'youth,' all the way home to wind me up, making me feel impossibly older while you did. You smile at this.  

  

I tell you how we moved into the Mill a few days later, how it took us two days to properly unpack because were like giddy idiots in love. I tell you about the ball ache we had installing the washing machine, you insisting you knew how to do it without reading the instruction because "you were a mechanic." I tell you about the first meal we cooked here, lunch on the day we moved in, you threatening to flick spaghetti at me and me begging you not too, laughing,  in case you ruined the new carpet.  

  

I try to skip over our first night here but you ask me outright and I am forced to ruin the illusion that we were still so happy until the bitter end.   

  

"Our first night," I begin, wary of what I can say. At the time I thought I had been doing the right thing, being honest with you in the hopes that we could move past it. In hindsight I can see that I ruined something so important for you; the first night somewhere that was truly _yours_. It had taken so much of your strength to use Gordan's money to buy our home, to invest it in our future and I had made it a wasted effort in your eyes before we even moved in.   

  

"Was that when it started?" You ask.   

  

"What?"  

  

"The fights," You say simply, as though that is all that there can be to this. A few scraps and realising we weren't ready to live together. I wish it was so simple to fix, Aaron.  

  

"Sort of," Is all say.  

  

I try to show you there were happy memories after that night. I tell you about chasing Ross for the money and you laugh, but I leave out the details of how he got the money he stole. I tell you about facetiming Liv' and Chas, I tell you about our fire extinguisher fight. I want to tell you how good it felt to hear you laugh again but I can't find the words.   

  

I tell you how I upset you by keeping my investments from you and you frown as though you're going to get angry about it all over again. I know you are wondering whether this was the last straw for you because I have often agonised over that myself, agonised what it was that finally made me so unforgivable to you.   

  

I tell you that we nearly made it, nearly flew to Ireland and left Emmerdale for good. Your brow furrows at this.   

  

"What and left this place? Left everyone here?" You challenge, as though you don’t believe you would have done this for me. I suppose you're right because in the end, you didn't.   

  

"Nearly. You went on your own in the end, to visit them but you came back. You-"  

  

I don’t need to finish. The look on your face tells me you know what I am going to say so I don’t need to tell you that when you left Emmerdale, you left me and our life together.   

  

I think we are finished but you give me a strange look and say, "What did you do after I left?"   

  

I take a shaky breath in. I feel like you are really asking me; how much did I care that you left? I want to refuse to answer, tell you that I _can't_ , that you can sit in a house that used to be ours all you want but I will not tell you how I fell apart without you. We both know the power you have over me, the power we have over each other. Yet, you give me a look like me reaffirming all these things is exactly what you need and before I know it I'm answering you, harshly.   

  

"It was horrible, Aaron. You came home from Ireland, handed me your key to this place and left for good. You wouldn't talk to me for months." I am almost shouting, but I can't stop myself, can't calm myself down. "I couldn't sleep in our bed when you went to prison and I could barely walk around this house without you here when you left!" Is that what you want to hear?   

  

You let out a shuddering breath and run your hands over your face. "I'm sorry," you say again.   

  

"I told you-" I break off and realise I'm still shouting. I lower my tone, "I told you, you don't have to say sorry. Especially when you don't know what you're apologizing for."  

  

I let that sit between us. It's the closest I've come to telling you that it is you not remembering that is the issue and not you being back. That I don't want you, Aaron, not like this. We return to silence.   

  

"I'm going to get some things from mum's, see how she is," You say eventually, standing to leave. "I'll be back later, yeah?" You ask cautiously like you're no longer sure again after my outburst.   

  

"Yeah. You can come back, Aaron, I said you could." I sigh, tiredly. I'm tired of this already, Aaron, how much longer will I have to do this?  

  

You pause, halfway out the door. You turn back to me and ask in a very small voice, "Do you still have my ring, Robert?"  

  

My heart begins to slam in my chest, my blood turning to ice in my veins. I blink a few times, blink back tears I wasn't even aware were there until my eyes begin to sting. Of course, I still have your ring, I didn't take mine off for _months_. How could I ever get rid of yours? It’s the only part of you, physically, I have left.   

  

"Yes, Aaron," I say.   

  

You nod and walk out the door without another word.   

  

I'm left reeling from everything you've just said, left alone again to pick up parts of my life you seem so determined to ruin, whether you know that is what you're doing or not. You seem to hell bent on clawing your way back into my life again like you think I'll welcome you back with open arms knowing that you don't even remember why you left. I can't do that, Aaron, no matter how much I want to.   

  

I feel like this is some cruel test. In a way, I'm getting everything I ever asked for back; us before you went to prison. Yet, it’s not really mine, _you're_ not really mine to ask for anymore even if you don't realise that yet.    

  

I have to keep myself, have to keep both of us protected and safe from what you remembering is going to do to us.   

  

Yes, I have your ring Aaron and you're not having it back.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Honestly don't know how I feel about this chapter, sorry if it sucked haha.  
> Please leave comment and kudos if you can! Really hope you enjoyed   
> Lil xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Newest chapter! Be warned there is light smut throughout ;) hope you enjoy x

It's weird how quickly I get used to you being here in our house again. I can't claim it's as though you never left because though it feels like we are much the same, there are significant difference's _between_ us that can't be ignored.  
  
You sit on your side of the sofa where you also sleep and I sit on the arm chair opposite. You never come into the bedroom, never sleep in the bed with me. I have found you hovering outside the door but you are respecting my boundaries with this at least. It's either that or you know that I really _don't_ want you in our room. You've only been upstairs at all a handful of times, to use to nicer shower we had installed in the upstairs bathroom or to look at Liv's old room.  
  
I ask you when she's coming back from Ireland and you tell me Chas told you it'll be soon, summer holidays probably. I wonder if you'll still be here when she does, hope that you are so I get to see her again. I know her fury towards me has mellowed and I'd like a chance to be put things right between us. I miss her.  
  
You go to work and so do I and oddly we are much the same at work as we were just before your accident. We're civil but not overly friendly around other people, so as to not make them question too much. Neither of us knows what we are doing so trying to explain it to anyone else would be a nightmare. Adam gives me funny looks every time he see's me, as though he is trying to work out whether to trust me.  
  
_"I'm just trying to help him remember. You said it yourself, he- he needs me."_ I tell him when he asks why you are staying at our house again. He tells me that's fine, but if I take advantage of the situation he'll deal with me personally. I think it's supposed to be a threat and I feel like I can't win; I push you away and I'm heartless, I keep you close and I'm manipulative. Do people not realise how much it hurts to have them believe I would do anything like that to you?  
  
When we're home together it's different. Some days we're open with each other, laughing and so at ease that I almost have to question whether we are _flirting_ with each other. It's ridiculous to think about us like that, two ex-husbands who are now living together again and flirting. I have to remind myself of the distance I'm supposed to be keeping from you but when you look at me with liquid eyes and a bright smile on your face it's hard to remember _why_ it's so important.  
  
Some days are worse and there is no laughing, only empty questions and mumbled replies. These usually happen on days you return from visits to your therapist, which is ironic because she's supposed to be helping you. You won't tell me what you talk about with her, but you come home looking lost and confused all over again and I want nothing more than to drag you out from that dark space within yourself and show you how much you are loved. Protecting you, supporting you, it's like a second nature to me, Aaron, I don't know how to stop. It's then that it's easy to remember why I'm supposed to be keeping my distance from you. I'm not supposed to be making it my job to fix you anymore, Aaron, and yet here I am doing just that. It’s hard to remind myself that it'll all be a wasted effort soon.  
  
Other days it's me that pushes you away. I tell you to make your own dinner and entertain yourself, that I'll see you tomorrow before seeking refuge in our bedroom, turning up the TV to block out the noise of you downstairs. It's too much, some days, to wake up and find you in our kitchen making me coffee from the expensive machine, I insisted we have, that you never bothered to learn how to use when you lived here. As though you knew you wouldn't be here for long, so why bother? It's times like this that I know how hard you're trying, but I'm trying too. I'm trying to keep us both protected from what this is ultimately going to end it.  
  
We don't touch. Since that first morning in the kitchen, you haven't tried to touch me and I haven't touched you. I feel better when I remember this like I am keeping my promises to myself by literally keeping you at arm's length. You haven't tried to touch me and I think this is because you know I don't want you to. You know that if you do, I won't be able to stop touching you back and it will lead to something we'll both regret.  
  
You still sleep in my clothes. Bits and pieces out of my dirty laundry will go missing for a day or two and then mysteriously return, washed and neatly folded at the bottom of the stairs. You must know that I know what you are doing, but neither of us says anything. To acknowledge that this is something we both need, you needing to feel close to me and me needing to _feel_ like you need me, would be too raw.  
  
I think about you when I'm lying in bed, painfully hard with you just downstairs on our sofa. I can’t _not_ think about you, not when you're so close and I can’t have you. I've always found it impossible to turn you away, even in the affair days, so I suppose it's a miracle I haven't dragged you to bed by now. Whatever I do though, I can't stop myself _imagining_ it.  
  
I imagine what it would be like to tiptoe down, kiss you, run my hands over you and take you into my mouth. I would show you everything we've both been missing in the last year, like how well we know each other's bodies and how many times I can make you cum in an hour.  
  
I could graze my teeth against the spot behind your ear that makes you _groan_ while slipping slick fingers behind your balls to enter you.  
  
I bite my fist, take myself in my hand and move it frantically along my length then I think like this. Anger and confusion mix with lust and want, making my head foggy. I'm definitely not thinking about you when I cum.

* * *

  
  
I wonder if you're remembering things. I like to think that you would tell me if you are but that's what you have your therapist for after all. The only thing I know for sure you have remembered is the fire extinguisher fight we had, days before the end, because you ask me when it happened.  
  
"A few days before you left. Is that all you remember?"  
  
You nod and tell me that your therapist thinks you remember it because it's a happy memory, and not one your brain feels the need to shield you from. You also tell me you don't remember much of the conversation before or after it, just the white foam and laughter.  
  
"It's fuzzy." Is all you say to begin with, but after a few minutes silence you ask, "Was it happy, Rob?"  
  
It’s a difficult question to answer. It was a memory I clung to, in the beginning, one I would hold up in my brain almost as proof that, even though we were so fucked up, I could still make you laugh. That you must still love me, there must still be a chance for us. But I know to you it would feel tainted with everything that came before and after.  
  
"It was Aaron, for me. We- _I_ was so happy with you."  
  
You shut your eyes and nod slowly. You don’t ask me any more questions about it.

* * *

  
  
"Where's your new flat?" I ask you one evening, around two weeks into our new arrangement. You give me a puzzled look as though you're trying to work out if this is a trick question.  
  
"Hotton. You know that though, don't you?"  
  
I shrug. "No, you never told me after..." I trail off.  
  
We are in the kitchen, making dinner _together_. I'm trying not to over think these small but largely significant coupley actions we have slipped back into these past few weeks, makes it easier for me to keep letting you live here.  
  
"That's strange." You comment after a pause.  
  
I assume you mean that it's strange you didn't tell me because you're still under the illusion you wouldn't have done that to me. It’s not strange though, Aaron, you wanted a clean break and you knew I wouldn't give you one, that I wouldn't go down without a fight. You didn't want to fight for us, you were so tired of us, and I can’t help the little part of me that's angry at you for giving up so easily. You forced my hand.  
  
When I turn to look at you, to ask whether you want beer or coke (though I already know the answer), I see you worrying your bottom lip between your teeth with a look on your face.  
  
"What's wrong, Aaron?"  
  
You shrug and try to tell me it's nothing. I don't believe you, I keep insisting you tell me. Though we have been spending so much time together we haven't really been _talking_ , not about important stuff like us or your memory loss. We need to keep the lines of communication open if we have any hope of getting through this.  
  
"I remember something," you say eventually, quietly. It knocks all other thoughts from my head and suddenly my mind is clouded with a cruel mixture of fear and hope.  
  
"What?" I breathe. I feel like I'm standing at the edge of a cliff and your next words will either pull me back or push me over.  
  
"I- Robert, I don't know if I should tell you." You're hesitant. _What is it, Aaron_?  
  
"Please."  
  
You sigh and screw your eyes shut. "I remember us, I mean you know... sleeping with you. Or at least, I think it's you. At my new flat." The words come out in a rush. It takes me a while to process them, understand what they truly mean. The realisation comes like a firm shove in the wrong direction.  
  
"It's not me, Aaron. I've never been to your new flat." I tell you, my voice like steel. I turn around, away from you and open the fridge door, looking inside for nothing other than something to do that doesn't involve looking at you and begging you to _explain_. To tell me that you're wrong.  
  
"I know," you say softly, "But it's you I remember being there, I'm confused, I-"  
  
I slam the fridge door and spin around, my voice like venom, " _You're_ confused? How do you think I feel? You're not telling me when you remember things, Aaron. You're living in our house again, telling me you love me one minute and then confessing to sleeping with other people, at the very least, the next."  
  
You look so small, fiddling with the sleeves of your jumper, eyes fixed to the floor. I want you to deny it, selfishly, I want you to tell me that whatever is going on it's definitely not that. It's not you putting my face onto some nameless hookup or brief boyfriend.  
  
You don't deny it. I know in my heart that of course you've slept with other people. _I've_ slept with another person, and then there's Rebecca, it's unfair for me to hold this against you. But it feels different, to have it confirmed, like it's your fault that I'm imagining it now, seeing it like a film playing out in my head.  
  
"This is why I didn't want to say anything. I didn’t want to bring it up until I was sure."  
  
"Aaron, I think I have a right to know if you're out sleeping around." I regret the words as soon as their out of my mouth. How hypocritical, I think, but I've dug myself this hole now, I can only keep going.  
  
You look angry. More than angry, hurt too. "Sleeping around? I've been here every single night since I woke up in that hospital bed, Robert! I've only just remembered anything that involves me being away from you. Even if I never remember, we weren't together for a year, Robert, you can't tell me you didn't do the same!" You wait for an answer and take my silence as confirmation. "See! So don't accuse me of being a head fuck when you're just as bad."  
  
"Just as bad?" I snort.  
  
"Yes, Robert!" You exclaim, deadly serious, "You can’t get me close enough one minute, cooking tea with me, joking around and then the next you freeze me out and act as though you don't want me anywhere near you. You can’t have it both ways!" Your voice cracks at the end of your sentence. I hadn't realised my instance to keep you at arm's length had been so obvious to you, I thought I had been letting you over step the boundaries. I understand now that you don't see it this way at all.  
  
"You left, Aaron." I remind you, it's all I have left to cling on to. It's all I have left to justify why I'm treating you in a way I can see now you think is so cruel.  
  
"Yes I know, Robert, you keep saying over and over. But it takes two, you know? I didn't fuck this up on my own, that much is obvious." For a moment I think you must have remembered something more, but I dismiss this. You wouldn't still be here if you did.  
  
"One person, Aaron." I say after a pause and your eyes snap back up to meet mine, "One person I've slept with since we split up. It was crap, it felt wrong and empty and I couldn’t get away quick enough." My admission hangs in the air between us, not an elephant in the room but something that almost clears away the tension. Your eyes are softening and I can feel the anger leaving your body as though someone is unwinding you.  
  
So, of course, I have to keep going.  
  
"How many people do you remember, hm?"  
  
I know it's unfair to ask but a twisted part of me wants to know, wants to know every part of you that someone else touched so I can run my hands, my tongue over it to claim it as _mine_ again. I want to fuck every memory of someone else out of your brain until you remember it's _me_ that you belong to, we belong to each other.  
  
"I don't know," you say defiantly, chin jutting out. "at least three I remember." Your eyes are dancing. I can sense a shift suddenly in the room, the air between us. I know what you are doing, you're playing with me, playing on my jealousy, taunting me to accept a challenge you won’t put into words. It shocks me to realise how turned on I am.  
  
Before I know what is happening I'm stalking towards you until I'm stood with my face a few inches from yours. You have to look up at me to meet my eyes, the breath leaving your nose and ghosting over my face making my cock twitch. I lean forward to bring my mouth to your ear.  
  
"I bet none of them made you feel like I did," I whisper into it, feeling the shudder rip through your body as you swallow a groan. I turn my head, press kisses along your cheek over your stubble, down across the side of your throat, my hand coming up to firmly grip the opposite side.  
  
I can feel you trembling beneath me, your hands coming up to knot in my hair as I tug away the edge of your jumper to mouth at your collar bone. "Robert," you breathe out like it's being ripped from you. It feels like this has been a long time coming, like we've both been waiting weeks for this. Like neither of us realised how much we wanted, needed this until _right now_

I mouth my way upwards until my lips are hovering in front of yours. Your eyes are liquid and you're breathing heavily. "What do you want, Aaron?" I ask, and you shut your eyes as though this is all too much. I stroke my thumb against the front of your throat where my hand is still wrapped around it.  
  
Your eyes snap open and you kiss me, a lurch forward before I take control again. I back you up against the wall, mouth moving against yours, all tongue and teeth. Your hands are still knotted in my hair and you tug at it. I can feel you hard against me, your hips moving, jutting out in search of something. I slip my thigh between your legs to give you something to ride against. It’s too much for you, you groan against my mouth then tip your head back against the wall in pure abandon. I begin my trail of kisses against your throat again, except this time it's bites, grazes with my teeth as though I'm trying to scrape something away from the surface and mark you up as mine.  
  
You're riding yourself against my thigh and I'm pulling away at your jumper, trying to get your clothes off now. I know this is a mess, this is going against every rational thought I've had in the last few weeks but I can't help myself when it comes to you.  
  
I want to be inside you, make you come apart completely from my fingers and then fuck you until you can’t remember anything but me and you and how this is supposed to be. I want to drop to my knees, take you into my mouth, let you cum down my throat and lick you clean afterward. I want you inside me, I want you to make _me_ forget the last year ever happened too so we can live in blissful ignorance together. I want you above me and below me until your completely surrounding my senses and pushing every other thought of, _what the fuck are we doing_ , out of my head. I want too much.  
  
I know this is not going to last.  
  
I tug both our trousers and boxers down, yours first and then mine. I bring my hand up to your mouth and you lick a wet stripe across it. I wrap it around the both of us, bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself cumming instantly from just the feel of your length hot and hard against me. It's been so long.  
  
I move my hand up and down, bury my face into the crook of your neck. Your teeth are scraping against my skull and I can feel your groans pushing through my hair. Your hand comes down to cover mine and that's it, I'm gone, my orgasm slamming through me as I bite hard at your shoulder blade.  
  
"Rob," Is all I hear you force out before you're doing the same, covering our hands in a mixture of both our cum. I didn’t even fuck you, you didn't fuck me and still, this feels like the most intimate moment I've had since you left.  
  
We don't move for a few moments, both of us catching our breath. When I take my face out from your neck I see that you're smiling. I pull away from you, walking to the bathroom to get a towel to clean us up and I wait to the guilt, the regret to seep through me.  


* * *

  
  
We are both sat, half dressed with our backs against the sofa. I try hard not to think of a similar time we sat like this, me so hopeful that I was going to get to keep you even after fucking up so badly. You're in just your boxers and socks, me still in my shirt but with all the buttons undone.  
  
What a mess.  
  
"Didn't expect that," you joke, knocking your knee against mine. I turn to look at you and you're still smiling, your eyes filled with something I refuse to call love. I wish I could share your happiness but I feel like this was wrong. You don’t seem to notice my reservation because you sigh contently and lean your head back to rest it against the sofa cushion.  
  
You open your mouth to say something but then shut it again. "What is it, Aaron?" I ask, trying to keep the exasperation out of my voice. I expect you to tell me you've missed me, that you love me or something else that's going to make this ten times harder for me.  
  
"Was it a woman you slept with?" You ask, sounding curious.  
  
My blood turns to ice and for a moment I think you've remembered me cheating but I quickly realise you are asking about who I slept with when we split up.  
  
"A bloke," I tell you.  
  
Your head snaps upwards and you turn to look at me, your face screwed up in confusion. "Why?" You ask.  
  
I laugh. "I am bisexual, Aaron." Your face falls and I can't bear it so I knock my knee against yours and mirror your flirtatious tone from earlier, "you're not that only bloke that does it for me, you know."  
  
You smile but your eyes seem far away now. I think I know where you've disappeared to in your head, the night I called the wedding off. You're still insecure about my sexuality, even without knowing about Rebecca, and I'm trying hard to be patient with you about it still. "I know. I just thought you would have wanted a change."  
  
I snort. "Aaron, I practically shagged your look-a-like." I had scanned the bar for ages, looking for someone who resembled you in any way and the level of pathetic I felt afterward stopped me ever doing it again.  
  
You laugh now and you seem to be back in the present again. "You know, I reckon I did the same. Looked for a look-a-like's of you I mean."  
  
I wish I could believe that to be true, Aaron but I feel like you would have been looking for the complete opposite.  
  
I don't know what to do now. You seem content to sit here with me, but I'm suddenly itching to get away from you. The reality of what we've just done it settling in thick and fast and I'm quickly realising I've let you step _way_ over my invisible boundary lines. _We had sex_.  
  
Everything we've been doing these past few weeks, it's all wrong. Playing house like we're still married, coming home to you every day and waking up to you every morning. This is all I want, what I've wanted since you left but it's wrong. I'm only going to get us both hurt again.  
  
"Shall we go to bed? Can order a takeaway, I think it's way too late to save dinner." Your words snap me back to reality. You're getting up, reaching down a hand to help me stand. I ignore it and stare at you in shock.  
  
"Aaron, you can't come to bed with me," I tell you, as though it's obvious. Isn't it? You must feel it too, must feel the regret and guilt. It doesn't seem that way because now you're looking at me like I've grown another head.  
  
"What? Why not, Robert?"  
  
I pull myself up, refuse to meet your eye. I'm frantically re-buttoning my shirt before I begin to look for the jeans I shoved off in an effort to get my hands on you. When I'm dressed again I see that you are still stood there, in only your boxers, looking at me as though I've gone mad. You're still waiting for an answer.  
  
"Because, Aaron, we just had sex!" I almost explode.  
  
"So? Isn't that even more reason?"  
  
I sink to the sofa, face in my hands. You don't get it, Aaron. How can I make you understand that I'm doing this _for_ you? It would be so easy for me to let you back into our bed, back into our life properly, but it would be worse than lying to you. It would be _living_ a lie.  
  
"Aaron, this was a mistake," I tell you, as softly as I can. When I look at your face I see that it's crumpled and I know it's no use trying not to hurt you, I've got to make it quick like ripping off a plaster. "Nothing's changed. You still don't remember why we split up, any pretending we do now, it's only going to be worse in the long run. I- We're still not together. I think we need to remember that."  
  
You sniff back tears and run your hands roughly along your face. You turn away from me and before I know it your words are coming out harsh and fast, "Okay, great. So, was this you using me for sex, eh, or?"  
  
I feel like you've slapped me. Use you for sex, Aaron? _You_ started this. When I tell you this you just scoff as though this isn't true, but you must know it is. You know how _weak_ I've always been for you, Aaron, you've known since the affair that I've never been able to say no to you.  
  
"Great, so this is just you fucking with my head some more."  
  
"No!" I exclaim angrily, "Aaron, do you honestly think that I would use you, fuck you around for _fun_? None of this is _fun_ for me, Aaron. I'm hurting too!" I wish I could make you understand just how much.  
  
You give me a look, one I'm all too familiar with. I can feel the anger building in my chest.  
  
"Don't give me that look, Aaron." I hiss.  
  
"What look?" You ask, defeated.  
  
"The look that tells me you don’t believe me."  
  
You stay quiet for a few moments and I almost don't hear you say, "I don't know what to believe, Rob."  
  
This does nothing to calm me. I'm sick of being the bad guy, Aaron, sick of it always being _my_ fault. You left me, not only for good but before that. _You_ went to prison, left me to deal with Liv' and our house and your crazy mother. And I was happy to do everything, for _you_. I would have done anything for you, Aaron, but I won't do this, not now.  
  
"If you don't believe me, I suggest you get out."  
  
You give me a disbelieving look like you're not sure if I'm being serious. You open your mouth to question me but promptly shut it again. Your face hardens and you refuse to look at me as you start to dress in a hurry. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm walking away, upstairs.  
  
I hear the door slam before I even reach our bedroom door. I have to force away the part of me that wants to run after you, instead making myself walk calmly back down the stairs.  
  
When I get to the bottom I see that you and the overnight bag you've been living out of are gone. I'm suddenly at a loss for what to do. I've been planning, preparing myself for the moment you leave again but this feels so premature. Two weeks of you sleeping on our sofa while I toss and turn in our bed should not make me miss you so much but it does. You've been gone not even five minutes and I can already feel myself slipping apart again.  
  
I force myself to walk back up the stairs and get ready for bed, though it's barely eight o'clock. I go through the motions and it's not until I'm under the covers I let myself really _feel_ that you are gone.  
  
I can do nothing the tame the part of me that is pleading with some unknown force to have you home again by tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, really hope you enjoyed! Kudos & comments are always so so appreciated and keep me motivated to write haha and constructive criticism is always welcome!  
> Lil xx


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early because this chapter is a bit short!  
> Please be aware that there are mentions of self harm in this chapter.   
> Hope you enjoy!

You're still gone when I wake up in the morning.   

I will myself not to think about it, I knew this was coming and so I should just face it head on and deal with it. I should have known we wouldn't have been able to do this, live together and let nothing happen. I should be able to just pick up the pieces again and move on quicker because I never really had you back to begin with.   

But I _can’t_.   

I get as far as the kitchen where I see the mess of last nights unfinished dinner before I break down.   

I don't cry, I don't think I've got that left in me. I just ghost my hand over the knife you were using to cut peppers, as though touching it will ruin the last few traces of you in this house. I look around the kitchen and it hits me just how bad I let this get. Everything around me reminds me of you, everything in this house feels like it's been stamped, " _Aaron was here."_ I'm quickly realising that yet again I'm struggling with the idea of what to do without you.   

 _This_ is everything I was afraid of. It's why I tried to keep my distance, but looking at it now, from the other side, it's clear that the moment you woke up in that hospital bed and thought we still belonged to each other, I was fucked. There is no keeping you at arm's length, Aaron, it's just not in our nature.   

I take a seat at the kitchen table, lower myself into it with shaky legs. I pull out my phone and find the number I need with trembling fingers. My whole body feels like it's vibrating against the loss of you. I know my voice is going to break the moment I speak but I _need_ to do this. I can't face this alone anymore.   

"Robert? Are you okay?" My sister answers on the second ring.   

"No. No, I'm not, Vic."  

 

* * *

 

 "Right, talk then," Vic demands the moment I've put a cup of tea down in front of her. She's sat in your spot on the sofa and I open my mouth to say something but then swiftly shut it again. I don't need everyone thinking I've gone completely crazy.   

"It's just... Aaron." I say, shrugging. I wish she could just read my mind so I didn't have to go through it all with her, but I know she's going to want the grizzly details.   

"Right, what about him?" 

"We had sex," I mutter, refusing to meet her eye.  

"That’s great!" She exclaims immediately. I look up at her in bewilderment and her face quickly falls, "isn't it?"   

"No!" I protest, "People are going to think-"  

"People are going to think what, Robert?" She interrupts me, looking confused. She _must_ know what people are going to think, surely, it’s me after all. They always think the worst.   

"People are going to think that I'm using him! Manipulating him, trying to worm my way back in." Vic surprises me by giving me a sad smile and looking at me as though I'm a complete moron.   

"Rob, no one thinks that. Not even Chas." Even after my phone call with her the other week, Aaron, I find it hard to believe that your mother is trying to see the best in me.   

"He does." It hurts to admit it out loud.

"Aaron? He told you that?" She asks, disbelieving.  

"Well, yeah, he said he thought I was using him for sex but that was after I told him to leave so..." I trail off.   

Vic's mouth falls open and it's her turn to look surprised. "You told him to leave? After you just had sex?" If she thought I was a moron before, it's clear that now she thinks I'm a complete idiot.   

God, I _have_ been a complete idiot, Aaron.   

"I fucked up, Vic," I tell her, forcing a laugh as though my eyes aren't stinging like someone has poured bleach into them, "I know it's what I do best, but I need you to know I was really trying not to this time."   

"Oh, Rob." Vic moves to sit beside me on the arm of the chair and wraps her arm's around my shoulder's. I lean my face into her and finally, _I can cry._    

  

* * *

 

"Why did you tell him to go?" Vic asks me when I've calmed down. She's back sitting in your spot now and staring at me intently, as though searching for the answer on my face.   

"Because," I sigh, "He thought that it meant we were back together, that everything was normal again. He asked if he could sleep in the bed with me, get a takeaway like old time's."   

"And you don't want that?"  

"No, of course I want it. I want it more than anything, Vic, but what's going to happen when he remembers? He'll go straight back to hating me, being civil at the very least and I can't do that again and neither can he. Even if he doesn't know it, won't admit it... he's in a vulnerable place."   

"But what if that doesn't matter? What if he doesn't remember?" 

It's a possibility I've struggled with over the last few weeks, unsure if it was what I wanted. I've gone through every situation that could happen if you don't and I don't like our odds.

"I can't live my life like that, Vic. I can't live waiting for the moment he does and he leaves again. I couldn't lie to him like that."   

She nods, understanding on her face.   

"I just... I just finally feel like I'm getting a grip on my life again and then this happens. I lose Aaron, lose the baby and then it’s like I'm being forced to relive it all again. I can't Vic, I don’t have it in me." It feels good to admit to someone just how lost I feel, how you're not the only one who's life was damaged by that car accident.

"Have you spoken to him about the baby?"  

"No. I can't, remember? I'm not allowed to trigger anything that might be deemed traumatic, I have to wait for him to remember on his own."  

She's silent for a while. Then, "Have you spoken to anyone about the baby?" 

I take a deep shaky breath. The truthful answer is yes, once at a grief counselling session Diane booked me into. But by the time I'd explained the extent of the situation, you, Rebecca, finding out the baby was Ross's, the hour had been almost up and I didn't feel any better than before. Needless to say, I didn't go back.   

"Nothing to say," I tell her. It's always been easier to blame my heart break on the breakdown of our marriage, blame us for everything. I know that's not fair, but it makes more sense to everyone including myself. I never wanted the baby. 

"Rob." She insists.   

 I'm frustrated now, angry. I always thought it was you that had the communication problem in our relationship, what does it say about me that I'm only just now realising how much of a part I played in that too.   

"What do you want me to say, Vic? That the one good thing I was supposed to get out of the break down of my marriage, out of losing the most important thing to me, turned out to be a complete lie?"  

I don't want to think about it. The first few weeks of bonding with my son, the wounds you left me with slowly beginning to be repaired simply by holding him in my arms before Ross saw the similarities between James and Mosses, before he demanded a DNA test that left my world shattered.   

I only talked to you about it once. You had seen me stumbling through the village, drunk on my way back to our house. You’d come up to me, offered to help me home. I’d accepted, all my wishes to be alone not extending to you, they never had. I was surprised you'd initiate conversation after months of only speaking to me when absolutely necessary, about work or the finances regarding the house.   

"I'm really sorry, Robert," you had said after a few moments of silence, "For what it's worth, you'd have been ten times the dad Ross'll be."   

Your words had shocked me. It was a mixture of that shock and the drink, I think, that had made me so cold towards you,   

"You're not sorry Aaron, isn't this what you wanted."   

I saw on your face you struggle with the want to argue back at me, leave me there alone again to get myself home. You knew what I was doing, desperately looking for someone to blame and it wasn't your responsibility to be my support anymore. You'd made that quite clear. Instead, you took a deep breath and just shook your head saying,  

"I never wanted any of this, Robert."   

You helped me stumble to our front door. Once I had managed with the key and swung the door open you had turned to leave but I called you back.  

"Wait, Aaron I-" Your eyes had bored into mine, and for a minute my brain hadn't been able to function. It winded me, the realisation of how much I wanted you back, how much I missed you. How much I _needed_ you right then. "Come home, please." I finished pathetically. You turned away from me as though you couldn’t bear to look at me. I've dealt with rejection my whole life, Aaron, and yet when it came from you when I needed you the most it all felt painfully brand new.  

"I can't," you had said with your back to me, "Nothin' has changed, Robert."  

"Everything has changed, Aaron." I had insisted, desperate to make you see that now there was no baby, we could fix this. There had to be some universe in which I got to keep you, some situation which made loving you for the rest of my life bearable.   

"Not for me." You had walked away then and you hadn't even turned back to look at me. I think that's the first time I truly accepted that there was nothing I could do to make you come back. No situation would make this mess into _us_ again.  

I tell Vic about this conversation now. She's looking at me with so much pity in her eyes it makes me nauseous but I need to be honest with her if she is going to truly understand this. I need one person on my side at least, Aaron.   

"See," I say when I'm finished, "When he remembers again, he's going to hate me. It doesn't matter that the baby isn’t mine, that Rebecca isn’t a part of my life anymore. It's me he doesn’t want, Vic. I'm the problem." I'm on the verge of crying again.   

"He still loves you, Rob." She says quietly. I snort thickly through my tears,

"Come on, Vic, I know that's not true."  

She shakes her head, "It is, Rob. Even Adam said he's... he's different since he forgot. He's happier."  

I want to tell her to stop filling my head with thoughts that I know will fester into all consuming _what if's_ , but at the same time I can't help but be hopeful.   

"If he's happy now... why didn't he come back before?" I'm trying to bring myself, bring us both, back down to earth, Aaron. Because as much as we can blame everything else for what happened, the simple fact is that you didn't seem to want me again.   

Vic looks at me thoughtfully then smiles sadly. "Maybe he didn’t know how to."   

I let out a sigh of something, not quite relief but close. Could that be the only reason? Could you still love me, in spite of everything we became, and just be lost on how to fix it? I'm lost too, Aaron. The only way we have any hope of repairing this is if we're honest and if we’re together.   

Or could it be what I've suspected all along, that you don’t love me anymore, you just don't know it yet?   

Maybe he doesn’t want to," I tell her.   

She doesn’t disagree, "Maybe. But the only way you'll know is if you help him to remember and you ask him. People... people can be forgiven, Robert." Her eyes are shining with tears and it makes me feel guilty that I'm forcing her to listen to something that hits so close to home.   

"What if I don't deserve to be?" I ask, like a child in an unsteady voice. In this moment, the need for my Mum is overwhelming, but Vic is the next best thing.  

"What if you already had been? And he just needs to remember?"   

I remember your refusal to look at me that night and all the times since, before your accident. You can hardly bear to be in the same room as me, and I'm supposed to believe that's because you don't know how to come home and not because you hate me, with good reason.  

I could only dare to dream, Aaron.   

  

* * *

 

Vic is long gone and I'm in the kitchen finally cleaning up our mess when you come home. I hear you open the door and I just know it's you, hear the thud of your overnight bag on the ground. I'm genuinely surprised, I didn’t think you'd come back. I definitely didn't think it would be this soon.   

"Rob?" Your call echo's through the house. A childish part of me wants to ignore you, let you find me in the kitchen dealing with the physical mess you made so you can't have a go about the emotional one we're in.  

But it feels wrong to act too childish after the 'grown up,' conversation I had with Victoria this morning so I call out, "coming," and walk into the living room.   

You're stood, still in the doorway, as though you don't know if you're still welcome. Have you ever felt welcome since waking up, Aaron? Then again, has that ever mattered? It feels like you came hurtling back into my life, consequences be damned, and you never really stopped to ask yourself if it was the right thing to do. Your face tells me that you're expecting to be told to leave at any minute.   

"You back?" I ask, jerking my head in the direction the overnight bag at your feet.   

You nod, "I'm done running from this, Robert, from us. If you are."   

I want to protest, tell you that I've never run from you, remind you, for what feels like the one-hundredth time, that you were the one that left. I don't because I know it's not really true because I have been running from you, desperate to get away at times. I ran from you in the beginning during the affair and I ran from you the night I slept with Rebecca.   

It feels like we’re always running, Aaron, just never in the right directions. One of us always away from the other.   

"I'm done, Aaron." You nod and seem satisfied with my answer.  

"We need to talk then, and I mean really talk. We need to figure out what's goin' on."   

It's my turn to nod, "I know and I'm sorry, Aaron. I know that this is confusing for you but- I just-"   

"Hey, no more apologies," you remind me, interrupting. I give you a shaky smile.   

"What do you want to say, Aaron?"   

You take a seat on your sofa and me in my chair. You seem to be gathering your thoughts and I know how exhausting this must be for you because it's exhausting for me. Going round in circles, neither of us really saying anything but always claiming to talk.   

"I- I didn’t mean what I said yesterday about remembering to sleep with three people." You put out there after a pause. I laugh because I hadn’t expected this to be where you would start.   

"Yes you did, Aaron. But you were right, we weren't together. I'm not saying it didn’t hurt, that I'm not jealous, but you don’t have to feel guilty or like you owe me some explanation." My words sound more mature than I feel. I only half mean them, the other half of me wanting to know every sordid detail so I can agonise over it the way I did when I first saw you head out to Bar West with Adam, two weeks after our split. Pain is addictive, but I don't need to tell you that.  

"I know, but it wasn’t fair for me to throw it in your face like that," you insist, "I was just trying to piss you off, get a rise out of you. I was being an idiot."   

I smile, "you and me both." You smile back and I ignore the way my heart skips a beat at the sight.   

Your face falls again though and I know that we are slipping into darker territory. You confirm it by asking, "When did I start self-harming again?"   

I throat tightens immediately and for a minute or two, I feel like I'm going to be sick. I want to ask how you know, do you have a memory of you self-harming again? As though you can read my mind you say softly, "I don't remember doing it, Rob. I just know that they're new scars on my stomach."   

Of course you do. "A few weeks before the end," I tell you, "please don't ask me why." I know my resolve will crumble now if you ask, I know I'll tell you every reason behind the marks on your skin and I don’t know if that's whats best for you to hear right now.   

You shut your eyes and keep them shut, "I don't want to know why. I want to know what you're so afraid of. Every time I get to close, or like yesterday- well, you get a look on your face that makes me think you're terrified."   

I want to laugh at the part of me that thought I was keeping you safe by pushing you away. I've always been so bad at hiding my feelings from you, I should have known you would see straight through me. "I am scared, Aaron."  

"Of me?" You ask in such a tiny voice, I want to take it back.  

"Of us. I- I don't want to get too close just to have you leave again when you remember what happened. I- I can't deal with you leaving again, and I don't think you can either." It should feel good, getting this off my chest and being honest with you. Instead, it feels like I'm exposing to you new wounds, new layers to this fucked up position we're in.  

You nod, tears in your eyes. "It’s bad, isn’t it?" You ask.  

"Yeah," sigh, "I just need you to know that it was the biggest regret of my life, Aaron." It comes out before I can stop it, but I'm glad I said it. I need you to hold onto that when you remember, need you to know that if I have any chance.  

You’re crying now and I want nothing more than to hold you, comfort you. Instead, I just sit with empty arms, feeling useless.   

"It's got something to do with Rebecca, hasn't it." You whisper it's almost as though the floor opens up beneath me and my stomach has dropped through my body all at once.  

"How..." I can't think of how to phrase that question without acknowledging that you're right. I don't want to tell you. I don't want you to remember, Aaron, but I didn't realise until this second how badly I need you not to.   

"I remember fighting in the pub. I remember her and Chrissie, and then us in the toilets, you begging me to tell you that I still loved you. I don't know what you did, Rob, but I can guess. I'm sick of dancing around this. You need to tell me what happened. If you're right, if I really am just going to leave again when I remember then I think we need to get this over with."   

Your voice has grown stronger with every word until you are no longer crying but demanding. I know you're right, Aaron, I need to tell you the truth. As much as this is going to hurt, it's the least I owe you and the least we owe each other.  

"I need you to remember," I begin with the most real truth I've got, "That I love you. No matter what I tell you, I love you." It's my last ditch attempt at getting you on side before I blow your world apart.  

"I know. I love you too." You say it as though it's the only truth you cannot get away from. But you still say it as though it's the truth.   

I wonder for how much longer?   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this didn't disappoint! Sorry that it's a little short (and if it's complete crap haha).  
> Please leave comments & kudos if you can, keeps me motivated and makes me so happy!  
> Love Lil x


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So unsure how I feel about how this chapter turned out, but it was long overdue and you guys deserved something! Hopefully it won't take me so long to get chapter 7 up (last chapter!). I really hope it doesn't suck as much as I think it does!

"You slept with her?"  

Your words aren't as cold, aren't as angry as the first time I told you. You don't seem shocked. You seem defeated, tired, almost as though you're finally giving in to an inevitably unwinnable battle. You aren’t looking at me, your eyes fixed firmly on the ground.    
  
"Yes. And- and she got pregnant." Your eyes flick up to meet mine at this, hurt washing over your features in a crashing wave. "Or at least that's what she told me. I spent a long time- without you- preparing to be a dad. It kept me occupied." You've started to cry, Aaron and I wish I could make this stop.     
  
In what world is it fair to make us both re-live this?   
  
"I tried really hard. I was scared I wasn't going to love him, my boy, for the longest time. Scared that every time I looked at him, he'd remind me of everything I'd lost because of that one stupid mistake. I was scared that he'd remind me of losing you."    
  
It's hard thinking back to those days. It had been confusing, to love you so much I was willing to walk away from my child, and still not get you. It had been even more confusing when part of my heart seemed to open, almost overnight to the possibility of having a son that I was willing to try to let you go.    
  
"You traded one type of family in for another." You're almost laughing, that sad little smile you do so often when you're trying to play off that you're not hurt and that you expected this all along. Maybe you did.    
  
"I didn't want to." I want to tell you that it wasn't like that, but I can't, I know how it must look to you. Robert Sugden gets the White's and Home Farm in the end, even if not by conventional means.    
  
"Did you chose?" You ask and I can almost see the question's you don't ask linger in the air between us. _Did I make you chose, Robert? Am I that awful? Did I lose out to a baby you didn't even want? I_ laugh, shaking my head.   
  
"You chose for me, Aaron. You walked away and it was all I had left." You nod and I can almost see it on your face that you are imagining it now. Or are you remembering? "But it wasn't real. It turned out the baby wasn't mine, it was Ross's. I don't know if she did it to split us up and try to get back with me or if I was just the more convenient choice. Or maybe she genuinely didn't know."    
  
 _"I'm sorry, Robert. I wish he was yours."_  
  
You look at me for the longest time, a strange expression on your face. I'm expecting a sorry, for you to tell me that she's a cow and that you'd kill her if she was a bloke.    
  
"And I didn't come back? After that?"    
  
It takes me off guard.    
  
"No, Aaron. You told me that nothing had changed, once, when I was drunk and practically begged you to come home. And it just- it _hit_ home. That there was nothing else I could do, you weren't coming back. So, I guess, I just stopped trying." I shrug. I wish I could tell you some heroic story where I knocked down your door every day, trying to fix us, but it wouldn't be the truth.    
  
"You gave up on me." You accuse, but there's no venom to your words, just angry acceptance.   
  
My throat feels tight. "Maybe. But you gave up on me first."    
  
You nod, wordlessly, staring blankly at a space behind my head. You keep your eyes fixed on the spot when you say, "maybe we don't love each other as much as we think. Maybe we should stop pretending."    
  
I shut my eyes against you, I don't want to listen to you tear apart the most real thing I've ever had, diminish it to nothing more than an affair that outlived its expiry date. I _loved_ you, Aaron, in a way I never had before. I would still if only you'd let me.    
  
"I can't tell you how you feel, Aaron." 

"No, but you can tell me how you feel. You can tell me what you want." Your eyes are pleading with me. "I know I'm not the same, Robert. Prison changed me, this- forgetting changed me. I'm not, _we're_ not the same. We're never going to be. What does that mean for us?"    
  
I nod. I know you're right. I've often wondered myself, am I chasing something that wouldn’t work, that wouldn't be what I wanted if I ever did get it back. But then I see you laugh at one of Adams joke's at the scrap yard, or watch you walk Liv' to the bus stop and I know.    
  
"I've told you before what I want, Aaron, and it's never going to change. Messed up with you, forever, right? It's you and it's always going to be you, 5 hours from now, 50 years, it'll always be the same."    
  
I know. I have to ask you what _you_ know.    
  
"What do you remember, Aaron?"    
  
You look uncomfortable. "A lot more now." You must sense the questions burning on my tongue because you continue without too much pressing. "I remember bits and pieces of our fight after you told me, I remember us planning to leave together. The conversation in the toilets. My dates are a bit fuzzy but-" Your eyes dart downwards toward the floor and you sigh, "I remember things I'm not proud of too you know."   
  
I raise an eyebrow at you but you seem reluctant to tell me what you mean. "Like what?"    
  
"Like... threatening her. Smashing our wedding photo up. Thinking for one minute it would have been okay to take you away from your son, that I could make you chose."    
  
I shake my head, "It was what I wanted to at the time. I would have done anything to try and fix us."    
  
You smile sadly, "I know. But I need to take my part of the blame too Robert. Those things I said, when I told you that you make me do those fucked up things, that I wasn't that person without you, that wasn't fair. I've always been fucked up, I've always thought with my fists first. I mean, for God sake, I turned to drugs in prison and then again when I was trying to deal with us falling apart."    
  
"You remember that?"    
  
You nod. "I- I can't pretend like that was all you. I didn't help things by the way I dealt with them."   
  
"Aaron, in all fairness I don't know how you were meant to deal with your husband of barely a few months cheating on you."    
  
You initially cringe at my harsh words, but then to my surprise you laugh and shrug. "I suppose you're right." There's a pause then and for the first time since you came back into my life, it's not an awkward one. It feels similar to the ones we shared living together, when we would both be engrossed in separate activities but could look up and make eye contact and just smile at each other. "Do you want a beer?" You ask and you're taking me off guard again and again tonight.    
  
It's my turn to laugh, "Sure. Thanks."    
  
You go to and from the kitchen and then place an open beer in front of me. You flop down onto the sofa next to me and take a deep swig of yours. I feel like I'm trapped in an alternate universe, where everything looks the same but feels so, so different. It feels wrong.    
  
I told you, and you've not left.    
  
"Aaron, what are we doing?"    
  
You turn to look at me and for a moment all I can see on your face is confusion. Not hurt, anger, just confusion. And then you let your guard drop.    
  
"I don't know," you shrug honestly. And just like that, it's back, the hurt in your eyes. I wish I wasn't so familiar with it. I wish it didn't seem strange to me _not_ to see it on your face.    
  
"I'm tired of being angry." You whisper, "I've been angry for so long, Rob," like a confession. I suppose it is.    
  
"I'm tired of being without you." Is all I can offer back.   
  
"I think you were doing better than you thought, before I came back I mean," you tease as you knock your knee against mine. "Vic told me you managed to scrape yourself together."    
"Barley," I laugh bitterly.    
  
"Come on, Rob. I think we both know I was probably the one worse off." You're grinning but I can’t help the smile fall from my face.   
  
"Aaron, I was miserable without you."    
  
Your face falls. "Rob, I'm not saying you weren't I just meant-"   
  
"What did you mean."    
  
"Well... you broke off our engagement. Because I was being a jealous control freak, granted, and then there was, well, Rebecca. I mean... it seems like I needed you a lot more than you needed me."    
  
I don't know whether to be saddened or angry that you think that. I think back to all the harsh words we've said to each other over the years, all the horrible things we've done.    
  
 _Jealous queen, disgusting, pathetic, boring..._   
  
Is that all we have to remember each other by?    
  
"Remember that night, in Mauritius, when you were too tired from lounging about in the sun doing nothing all day, so we got room service and ate ice cream in bed?"    
  
You look at me as though I've lost it. "Yeah?" You question.    
  
"Well that, that moment, was the most at home I'd ever felt since my mum died. Thousands of miles away from Emmerdale, a posh hotel room with you felt more like home than Diane's, Home Farm, anywhere else." Your face has softened. "No one, nothing, is going to come close to making me feel the way you do, Aaron."    
  
You're quiet for a moment, then, "I felt like that. In the garage, saying our vow's to each other."    
  
We smile at each other, like idiots drunk on love. I want to tell you, _see, we have way more good than bad between us. Believe me when I say I love you._    
  
If you ever let me say those vow's to you again, Aaron, I swear to you that I'll never break them.   
  
But before I know it, you're pulling away, your defense's going back up.    
  
"I think I need some time to think, Rob." You're already on your feet, gathering your stuff into the overnight bag you've had stashed in the corner of our living room since you came back.    
  
"Okay. Are you going to come back?" I hate how needy I sound.  

You nod. "Yeah. I just- I just need to get my head clear. Process all this on my own. I'll stay at my Mum's though, so you don't need to worry."    
  
"I'll be surprised if she lets you come back here," I try to joke, but it sounds bitter even to my own ears.    
  
You shake your head. "She doesn't hate you actually. She hates what you did, but, I- I don't know. I think she knows you're sorry." This warms me a little.    
  
"Well... be safe," I tell you, as you head to the door.    
  
"I will." You say, but you don’t look back at me. Before I know it, the door is shut and I'm alone in our house for what feels the first time in a decade. Has it always felt this big?   
  
I sit back down, switch the TV on. I try to calm the niggling doubt that says you're coming back at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Please, if you have time, leave comments and kudos. They really fuel my creative fire :)  
> Love Lil   
> xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally here!  
> Enjoy x

It's been a few hours since you left and already I feel uneasy, unwelcome. I'm at a loss for what to do in my own house, how to fill the hours of evening that seem to stretch in front of me, now that I don't have you to spend them with.     
  
I want to laugh bitterly at the part of me that thought seeing you walk out that door for the second (third, fourth, one-hundredth?) time wouldn't hurt like this. A shot to the chest doesn't hurt less because it's your last, it just might be enough to kill you this time. I've made denial an art, a necessity to get through each day.

_Why are you doing this to me, Aaron?_  
  
_Why have I_ let _you?_

 

* * *

 

I see you in the pub, pulling pints for your mum. Chas gives me a small, sympathetic smile and it's enough to drive me straight back out the door. I spend the entire walk home analysing that smile, what it could mean.  

Does it mean you've already told her you're not coming home? Or does she just understand what this life in limbo has been doing to me?   

No one else can even begin to understand what this is, Aaron, no one has ever loved anyone else the way I love you. Sometimes I don't think you can even understand what this is doing to me, to us. You're too kind, too good to make me suffer like this. 

Maybe it's the God complex in me, the one you were always so fond of pointing out, but I feel like no one has ever mattered more than you.  No story has ever been so consuming as yours and mine.

_What's meant to be, will be,_ was one of my mum's favorite sayings.  

_This isn't a love story,_ I used to tell myself.

Maybe denial has always been my best friend.    


* * *

 

  
I avoid you at work. I try to tell myself that I'm giving you the space you need, giving myself the space _I_ need. I have learnt from last time that following you around like a lost dog does nothing to help us.    
  
If I'm honest, I think I'm afraid.     
  
Afraid that you'll look at me and I'll know. Afraid that you'll look at me and I _won't_.     
  
Afraid you won't look at me at all.     


* * *

 

  
The Mill has become neutral territory; it's not quite yours, not quite mine. I feel like I belong there, but I don't belong there _without you._      
  
I wonder if _you_ felt like you belonged, these last few weeks.     
  
We didn't sleep in the same bed, you never even came back into the bedroom after the first time. Maybe you thought I didn’t want you there and you would have been right. Having you in my bed again would have made it too real. If I had fallen asleep next to you every night, Aaron, after accepting I never would again, the ache in my chest would have spread much further.     
  
I don't over think the quirks that are helping me to cope. Like how I won't drink the beer on the bottom shelf because it's your beer, and you were the last person to touch it. How I won't wash the T-shirt I found kicked under the sofa, even though it doesn’t smell of you anymore. How I won't clean up the mug you drunk your coffee from, the last morning you woke up here.     
  
Sometimes I think, that if I squint, I can see the outline of your body on the rug. The one I fucked you on, the first week we lived here together.  
  
Sometimes I think I'm going crazy.     
  
Well, _crazier_.     


* * *

 

It cuts me to see you bounding through the scrapyard with Adam, laughing and joking. You're acting like you're not thinking about us at all. I've only come to the office to collect paperwork, and now I can't stop staring. I'm well aware I'm giving Adam the look of death, but I don't care.     
  
Is this what you would rather be doing than trying to fix us?    
  
I don't mean to get so jealous, Aaron, but how can all this uncertainty not _exhaust_ you? I can't escape thoughts of you, of us, our possible future or end. The twisted part of me that I long to push down reminds me that if I had my way, I'd hide you away somewhere I could have you always. Somewhere I wouldn't have to compete with the likes of Adam Barton.     
  
I remember the first time Vic told me about your past.     
  
_"Aaron was just confused though, Adam was the only boy he was close too. He thought he fancied him, but I don't think he did, not really."_  
  
Even so, the thought of you being in love with him, feeling anything towards him other than friendship, is enough to make my stomach churn. In another life, would he replace me?     
  
And I know that I'm being unfair, that, in his way, Adam has tried to be there for both of us.    
  
I decide that if you do come back, I'm going to ask you. About Adam, Jackson and all the others. To show you that you're not the only insecure one.    
  
You're not the only one that feels so damn _unworthy_ sometimes.     


* * *

 

  
I've also decided that if you leave me, for good this time, I'm going to sell The Mill.  I'm going to take my ring off, and I'm going to sell our home.     
  
Maybe move away, start fresh somewhere new.     
  
I think I owe myself that much.     


* * *

 

  
It's been nearly two weeks, and I've still not heard from you. Not a single word.     
  
I've restrained myself, stopped myself from texting and calling more times than I can count.     
  
I love you, Aaron, and you say you still love me. Can't you see what you're doing to me?     
  
I want to beg you to make up your mind, put me out of my misery. _I can't do this anymore._

 

* * *

 

 

"You on your own?" Bernice asks me, a friendly, sympathetic smile on her face.    
  
It's been two weeks now, and I'm sat in the café nursing an Americano I wish was a beer. I still haven't been back to the pub.    
  
"Yeah, why?"    
  
"Does a sister need an excuse to chat with her brother?" She chirps before sitting down across from me.

It takes approximately 30 seconds to get serious.

"Honestly, Robert, how are you holding up?"    
  
The words, "I'm fine," are on the tip of my tongue but before I know it, my face is crumbling and a choked, "Not great, Bernice," is coming out of my mouth.    
  
She smiles sympathetically and doesn't tell me what to do the way Vic would or tell me to keep my distance the way Adam would. In fact, she doesn't say much of anything. Just sits and lets me talk, nodding and "hmm-ing," at all the right moments.    
  
And _God_ , does it feel good to talk.    


* * *

 

 

On the 17h day, you call.   

"I'm ready to talk."    
  
And I try not to get my hopes up.    


* * *

 

You're sat across from me in the armchair. It feels as though all the meaningful conversations we have take place in this living room, and I wonder if this one will finally taint it beyond repair. You haven't said anything, have denied a drink and that makes me worried that you're not staying for long.    
  
What's quicker than, _we're over?_

You look good. The bags underneath your eyes have lessened. You look as though you have been sleeping and eating properly, for once.

I've never thought anyone was more gorgeous.

"Robert, I've been doing some thinking. That's why I haven't called, haven't come back. I needed time away to clear my head, figure this out," You finally begin.  
  
"You needed time away from me." It's not a question.   
  
"No. Yes. Sort of." You run your hands roughly down your face. "Look, I just needed to know for sure. I didn't want to promise you anything I couldn't be sure of."    
  
I'm grateful for your honesty. "Are you sure now?"    
  
You pause, and it doesn't fill me with much hope. I open my mouth to say something, but before I can you whisper a quiet, "You still love me."    
  
It’s not what I was expecting, and the faint trace of insecurity in your voice makes my throat ache. All I manage is a nod.    
  
You smile, softly, sadly. "And I still love you. So much."  
  
Your words make my chest throb. I fight back the protest of, _'you think you do, but you'll quickly remember the limit of that love.'_  
  
"If you could have what you wanted, would it be us?" Your smile has disappeared again, and you're staring at me as though your whole life depends on my next words.     
  
I almost laugh at the ridiculousness of your question. "What does it matter what I want, Aaron? You're the one holding all the cards here. I've never had a say, not since you walked out the door the first time or since you walked back through it."    
  
"It matters to me. If we're going to-" you break off. I'm hanging on your unspoken words, I want to beg you to finish, but you're already saying, "It matters to me, and I need to know."  

I take a deep breath and tell the truth I've been desperate to hide from you the moment you came back. "Aaron, I would do anything to get back the life we were meant to have, together."    
  
You're smiling again, tears in your eyes. You're quiet for a few moments while we let my words, my confession sink in. Then, "When you were with Chrissie, I used to dream, fantasise about you choosing me, leaving her for me. I was tired of being just a bit on the side, I wanted more, Robert all of you. And no matter how many times I tried to catch myself doing it, stop myself before I got too deep, I couldn't. I like to think that was because a part of me always _knew_."  
  
The turn in conversation is surprising; I can hardly keep up with you. We haven't spoken about Chrissie, about the affair in so long. We never spoke about it at all, once it was over. "Knew what?"  
  
"About _me and you_ , Rob. About what we meant, how you were going to change everything. You said it yourself; we were meant to have a life, together."     
  
My heart is thudding in my chest. I'm scared that if I push you, ask you what this means, that you will close up and I'll be left with nothing again.    
  
"I know I forced you to come out and that was wrong. So wrong. No one deserves that." you whisper, shame colouring your voice.    
  
"I threatened to kill you, Aaron. I think exposure was the least I deserved." It's the first time you've apologised, and it's the first time I've reminded you of what happened that day before you showed up at Home Farm.     
  
I had been so in love with you, even then. So in love, it terrified me, drove me mad.    
  
"You wouldn't have killed me, Robert. I knew that even before I forgot everything and again before I remembered."  
  
I shrug, keep my eyes fixed on the floor. I'm glad you've said it though, even if I do find it hard to believe.    
  
The Lodge. As much as I regret that night with Rebecca, that day tops the list of, _"How Robert Has Hurt Aaron."_   Even if you're right; I would never have gone through with it.    
  
Talking about it feels like breaking bones to help them set straight, to make them heal completely.  
  
"But my point is that when you did choose me... when you asked me to marry you, I don't think I ever believed that it could be real. And I know that you know this, I know we talked about this before we got married. "  
  
I nod. "You told me that Gordon made you feel like you didn't deserve me. That you didn't deserve to be happy."    
  
"Yeah and you told me I deserved to be, showed me you loved me in more ways I ever thought you would."    
  
Your eyes travel far away for a few moments, and I know that you're thinking of our wedding day. The way love and happiness that radiated from every look you gave me that day makes it one of the best things I ever did, by far.    
  
"Well, these past few weeks, I have been happy. Shit scared and confused, but mostly happy. Even Mum said that I seem lighter now than I have the last year apart."    
  
My chest feels lighter like there's suddenly so much more room for my heart to move in. Room for it to expand, grow. The only weight left dragging downwards is your memory.    
  
"Aaron, you need to remember, and not just be told what I did, first. As soon as you do, those thoughts and feelings are going to come rushing back."  
  
You're nodding, your face soft. "I do remember, Robert. I remember everything."  

* * *

  
This is it.    
  
I stare at you, your bright blue eyes, so open as they stare straight back. Deeply loving, so afraid.    
  
"Are you sure it's everything, Aaron?"    
  
"Yeah. I remember it all, all the fights. I do remember good things too, even from after I found out. But mostly I remember being... well lonely without you. Being..."  
  
"Broken?" I know the feeling too well.    
  
You nod. "You know, I think it's sad that we weren't even married for six months. I'm sad we never got to do it legally. I'm sad, still a little angry that you cheated, but I'm also sorry. Sorry that I gave up on you so soon. Sorry I broke my vows, too. Sorry that I let you think for a year that you weren't the love of my life, weren't the one thing I've wanted since that first day you kissed me."    
  
_Love of my life._ My heart swells, threatens to burst out of my chest. The one thing I've wanted. I'm trying not to give into the feeling of relief, the sense of elation that is spreading warmly through me. I'm scared to let myself believe it.    
  
"I'm _sick_ of being sad and sorry, Robert. I'm sick of being angry. I'm sick of being dishonest with myself every time I look at you and tell myself that I don't ache for the life we could have had. The life we still can. I want to be _happy,_ Robert. And fixing us, fixing this, well it feels like that would be a step in the right direction."    
  
These are the words I've wanted to hear for so long. The words I've dreamt about, the life I've dreamt about too. I know, somewhere deep inside myself, that this is not going to be easy. That we are both broken, and I am so insecure, I'm sure it's showing on my face, in the way I carry myself. But I want this.    
  
I want you.  
  
And I'm tired of neither of us getting what we want, Aaron.    
  
So I reach across and grab your hands in mine. I pull you towards me until you're sat against me, your warm, soft weight pressing into mine. I let you rest your chin on my shoulder, bury your face in my neck. I don't care about the wetness I feel. I hold you, tightly, against my chest.    
  
"I've missed you so much, Aaron," I whisper into your hair as I press kisses to the top of your head.    
  
You sniff. "You know I'm glad you said messed up forever, cause' Robert we are so messed up right now. We've got so far to go."    
  
I laugh, take your face in my hands so I can look at you. "I know. But can we just enjoy how far we've come for a little longer?"    
  
And then you're laughing with me, the kind of laugh only people you love can drag out from you. You're smiling at me, happiness shining out from your face as you look at me as though I'm the person that makes the Earth spin. Like I change the seasons, _just for you._   

Just for you, Aaron.   
  
I've never felt so _happy._   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone that left kudos or kind comments on this story! They all mean so, so much to me and have kept me going even when I really wanted to give up.  
> I'm thinking of maybe doing a epilogue for this story, a sort of 'one year later,' look. Please do let me know if you'd be interested.  
> Thank you and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!  
> Love Lil x

**Author's Note:**

> I just started a tumblr   
> [Link text](https://between-twolungs.tumblr.com/)  
> find me here!
> 
> xxx


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